


Of Mandos

by Natasha_Rostova



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, F/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasha_Rostova/pseuds/Natasha_Rostova
Summary: Newlywed Fëanáro is haunted by memories of the past.





	Of Mandos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theoreticlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreticlove/gifts).



> Just a quick drabble inspired by my mutual Monica!

The Valar was not something they talked about. 

Yet when the acolytes arrived in dark hooded robes, bowing their heads and asking for tribute, the subject was hard to ignore. 

Nerdanel was the greatest sculpture among their people. She had talent beyond anyone he had known, dedication to her craft like no other. In addition, she had talked about temple work before. Yet with it now right before him, Fëanáro felt sick.

Nerdanel had her hair tied back, brow furrowed in concentration. Although Fëanáro usually found himself right by her side, he could not will himself to sit closer to her today. She was sketching her drafts. She was sketching Mandos. 

Such was her simple way of planning, endless sketches turned into endless prototypes, endless prototypes turned into masterpieces. Oh how Fëanor loved to watch her work. But today. He just wished she was an expert in another craft.

So she sat at her desk. And he sat on the couch. 

The scratching of her pencil on paper seemed to grow louder by the minute. Worming and weaving in his head. Burrowing and tugging. 

The usual calm of her presence was gone, all Fëanáro could feel was the knot in his chest and the pounding of his heart in his ears. With each draw of her pencil his heart seemed to beat louder. 

The words of his book blurred and swam about the page, making it impossible to focus.

Why was this so hard?

She was happy.

She was grateful.

She was at peace. 

Couldn’t he just get over himself for five seconds and-

“Fëanáro?” He whipped his head to meet her gaze. Her face was flushed and littered with pencil markings. Fëanáro finds himself releasing a tense breath. Nerdanel tilts her head slightly, eyes filling with concern. “Are you alright, my love?”

How could she not understand?

How-

“Yes I’m fine,” He fakes a smile, pushing his own negative thoughts away. “I think I’m just, overtired.” Nerdanel relaxes slightly, before shifting into a grin. Quickly gathering her sketchbook, Nerdanel nearly stumbles in her race to his side. 

“If you’re too tired to sit at the desk with me,” Nerdanel removes the book from Fëanáro's hand and situates herself on his lap. “I’ll sit by you.” She’s smiling, eyes bright and gleaming. Despite the tension within himself, Fëanáro can’t help but laugh breathlessly and wrap his arms around her form.

And then he sees her sketchbook.

Lord of the Dead.

Eyes wrapped in a dark cloth, the sketch of Mandos stands tall, holding a scale.

Judge of the Dead.

Despite her presence so close to him, Fëanor feels the room grow cold.

The memory of silver hair and woven strings flutters just beyond his reach.

A lullaby that he can’t quite place.

Míriel.

Why did she-

Why did Mandos have to-

Why did she leave him?

Ammë.

She was-

Calling to him.

Fëanáro 

Fëanáro 

“Fëanáro!” Nerdanel bakes his trance once again. Face woven with concern. “What’s going on? You can tell me.” Despite her soft voice, he' heaving now, chest aching with each breath. The room is spinning. Some lullaby runs circles in his head, calling to him, screaming for him. For help, for-

“I have to….I have to.” Fëanáro pushes Nerdanel away, forcing her off his lap and onto the couch. Everything burns, this heart is beating too fast and everything spins. “I can’t.” A half sob lodges in his throat burning and choking. Nerdanel quickly stands and places her hands in his.

“Love what-” Fëanáro snaps his hands away from her before she can finish. Breathing heavily, he takes several steps back. The hurt look on her face burns more than the memories, but he can’t seem to control it.

“Just...please. Just leave me alone.” 

“Okay,” Nerdanel wraps her arms around her frame, eyes confused and sparking with tears. “I’ll give you a few ticks and then…” Her voice is cracked, tone distracted. “And then I’ll come back with some tea, yes?” She sounds so confused, and oh how Fëanáro wishes he could explain, but head screams and stomach turns. Through his panic and heartache, Fëanáro manages to whisper,

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick thing. Please forgive any errors.
> 
> Please leave a kudo and comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
